
Class "PS - 



Book 






Cits 



Copyright^ - 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; 



The Literature of the 

Louisiana Territory. 

By ALEXANDER NICOLAS DEMENIL, 
A.M., PH.D., LL.D. 

Director Louisiana Purchase Exposition 

Company, and Vice Chairman of the 

Historical Committee. 

The history of the literature and the 
educational development of the Louis- 
iana Territory from the earliest times to 
the present day. With critical and bio- 
graphical sketches of Audubon, Brack- 
enridge, Senator Benton, Albert Pike, 
Gayarre, "Mark Twain", Geo. W. 
Cable, Eugene Field, "Chas. Egbert 
Craddock", Dr. Wm. T. Harris, Ruth 
McEnery Stuart and fifty others, and 
selections from their works ; chapters on 
the first books, the French Authors of 
the Territory, the Authors of Louisiana, 
Missouri, Iowa, Minnesota, Kansas, Col- 
orado, Nebraska, Arkansas, the Dakotas, 
etc. A bold and fearless book that con- 
tains much hitherto unwritten literary 
history. Cloth; price, $1.50. 

THE ST. LOUIS NEWS COMPANY, PUBLISHER 

ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI, U. S. A. 



SONGS IN MINORITY 



SONGS IN MINORITY 



BY 

ALEXANDER NICOLAS DE MENIL 

AUTHOR OF 

" THE LITERATURE OF THE LOUISIANA 
TERRITORY", ETC. 




ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI 
THE ST. LOUIS NEWS COMPANY 

PUBLISHER'S AGENTS 
1906 



tf>V 



^ 



^ 



LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
Two Copies Received 

2 1906 



-Copyright Entry 
CLASS CC XXc, No, 
COPY B. 



COPYRIGHT, 1906 
ALEXANDER NICOLAS DK MENIL 



Nixon-Jones Printing Co., 8t. Louis 



TO THE MEMORY OF 

MY FATHER AND MY MOTHER 

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK 

THE FIRST COLLECTION OF MY 

EARLIEST ASPIRATIONS 



Life went a maying 

With Nature, Hope, and Poesy 

When I was young! 

— S. T. Coleridge. 



PREFACE 

The majority of these verses were written when 
the Author was in his eighteenth year ; the re- 
mainder when he was in his nineteenth and 
twentieth years. Nearly all of them appeared 
in print between the years 1868 and 1875, in 
New York and St. Louis magazines, weekly 
literary papers, and the Sunday issues of daily 
newspapers. With a very few exceptions, they 
were contributed to the Inland Monthly, the 
De La Salle Monthly, the St. Louis Ladies' Mag- 
azine, the New York Weekly, the New York 
Literary Album, the St. Louis Home Journal, 
the Missouri Republican (now the St. Louis 
Republic}, the Missouri Democrat (now the St. 
Louis Globe- Democrat) , and the Sunday Herald 
of East St. Louis, Illinois. 



8 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Years ago, it was the Author's intention to 
collect them in book form, but through negli- 
gence, want of self-confidence, a lapse of interest 
in literary matters, and the painful recognition 
of an ever-decreasing public appreciation of 
poetry, through all these years they remained 
neglected, and even at times, forgotten. The 
success of a more serious work which the Author 
published two years ago, added to a reviving 
interest in poetry, leads to his finally collecting 
these verses in a more permanent form than they 
have existed in during the past thirty-odd years. 
Whether such a step is wise or not, must be left 
to the decision of an indulgent public to whose 
leniency he is already heavily indebted. 

There is much in these verses that the Author 
does not approve of in these later days ; but it 
must be borne in mind that they were, with a 
few exceptions, the work of a mere boy in his 
eighteenth and nineteenth years, and they should 
be given to the world as they were written, and 
not in the corrected and improved state in which 
he, grown to middle age, would have them to-day. 
They should be judged in conjunction with the 
early period of life in which they were written ; 



PREFACE. 9 

if they have any merit, it is of the kind that can 
be due to youth only ; if they are to be con- 
demned, the present age of the Author should 
not be associated with such condemnation. 

Looking at them in the light of the broader, 
more liberal view and the loving charity for " all 
things beneath the sun " that come only with 
age and experience, the Author is sadly conscious 
that some of these verses are pervaded by a 
morbid sentimentality and are redolent with an 
atmosphere of despair and hopelessness, that 
happily find only an occasional echo in the 
poetry of to-day. The poetry of the day in 
which they were written was largely tinged by 
the misanthropic defiance of Byron, the philo- 
sophic melody of Shelley, the funereal sadness of 
Poe, and the startling metric surprises of Hood. 
Living, aspiring, struggling in this atmosphere, 
what wonder if the Author, at times, caught the 
tone and the ruling sentiments of the time, and 
growing imbued with their melancholy sadness, 
sung in accord with the predominant note of 
the age? 

The Author. 

St. Louis, March 20, 1906. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

Wood-Notes 

snow flakes 15 

the blue bird 19 

the song of ixus 22 

a mowing carol 27 

a spring idyl . 30 

CORMAHL . „ 32 

Love 

MONA LEE 43 

PEERLESS, BUT COLD 46 

TO ULALA IN DESPAIR 48 

THE MAID OF CHAMOUNI 50 

THE FORSAKEN TO THE FALSE . . . . 53 

ANNETTE, MY PET 56 

LAURINA CLARE 58 



12 songs in minority. 

Death 

the long ago 63 

in dark dats 65 

a dirge for one dead 67 

euthanasia 70 

laura matne 73 

the death of sergeant jasper ... 76 

Miscellaneous 

a bridal toast 85 

threnody 87 

the dream of fame 89 

ARKADI 93 

O MORTAL BE NOT PROUD 94 



WOOD -NOTES 



Nature is man's best teacher. She unfolds 
Iter treasures to his search, unseals his eye, 
Illumes his mind, and purifies his heart, 
An influence breathes from all the sights 

and sounds 
Of her existence; she is wisdom's self. 

— Alfred B Street's "Poems." 



SNOW FLAKES. 



Silvery, glittering flakes of snow, 
How they come and go ! 
Filling the sky above, 
Cov'ring the earth below. 
Ever drifting, drifting, 
Ever shifting, shifting ; 
Ever falling, falling 
On the placid bosoms 

Of the lakes ; — 

Fleecy flakes 
Of pure crystal snow, 
Ever dying, dying 
As the streams are tying 
Quiet, or wand'ring to and fro 
And the rivers flow. 



16 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

They are purer and more bright, 
Softer and more white, 
Than the richest pearl ; 
Crystal flakes of snow — 
How they chase each other 
With a whirl, whirl, 
And a twirl, twirl, 
As they go ! 
Then they mingle and they blend 
As their downward course they wend 
Blend as they descend, 
While the joyous people, 
Heav'n and earth between, 
Smiling faces lend 
To the scene. 

Falling in a sleet — 

Pearly flakes, 
Now they're overhead, 
Now they're at your feet — 
To be trampled, shuffled, lost, 

Mercilessly tossed, 
Or else wedded with the filth — 
Horrid filth and slime — 
Of the street. 



SNOW FLAKES. 17 

Ah! me, they should fall 
From the azure realms of sky, 
But to be polluted — die — 
Ou a sphere that's so unmeet ! 



II. 

Man's immortal soul is like 
Snow flakes pending in mid air. 
First 'tis beautiful and fair ; 

When 't falls into crime, 
It is trampled in the slime 

Of its Maker's wrath, — 
Trampled like the flakes of snow 

When they fall below ; 

If it takes the path 

Leading to its God — 

Passes 'neath the rod, 
It remains pure, beautiful, 

Like the flakes of snow 
Ere they fall 

From their skyey wall 
To the sinful world below. 



18 SONGS IN MINORITY. 



III. 



Ah ! me, some triumphal day. 

Crystal flakes of snow, 
Gently, peacefully will fall 

When the pain , the woe — 
When the fever here below — 
When it all 
Will be clone ! 

When the tired brain, 

And the weary heart, 
Free from thought and free from pain, 

Peacefully shall rest 

Once again 

Lovingly on Nature's breast, 

'Neath the shelt'ring trees, 

'Neath a shroud of snow, — 
Pride, ambition, failure — all 
Sleeping peacefully, I trow, 

Under falling flakes, 
'Neath a coverlid of snow, — 
When the fever's course has run, 
Wben the corned}' is done! 

(October 3, 1867.) 




THE BLUE BIRD. 

The blue bird carries the sky 
on his back. — Thoreatj. 



Bird of the light wing, 

Bird of the brown breast, 
Herald of earth's spring ! 

First of the minstrels 

Out of the west, 
Joy do thy notes bring 

Hearts that are winter'd ; 

Softly of green grass, 
Brooks gently murm'ring, 

Trees with green branches 
In the wind swaying, 

Shade and light air, thou 



20 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Merrily dost sing, 
Bird of the blue wing. 

Bird of the light wing, 

Welcome thou'rt ever ; 
Flowers rebudding, 

Nature renaissant, 
Thunder storms, lightning 

Terrible, mystic ; 
Rain, and drops patt'ring 

Here on my window ; 

These, the glad tidings 
Yearly thou dost bring, 
Bird of the blue wing. 

Bird of the light wing, 
Master of sweet lays 

Ever beguiling, 

Turn'st thou sorrow 

Into glad smiling, — 

' ' Joy and oblivion ' ' 

Ever a singing. 

Blessings attend thee, 
Nomad of ether, 



THE BLUE BIED. 21 

Bird of the blue wing, 
Minstrel of fair spring ! 

Bird of the light wing, 
Bird of the brown breast, 

Linger long near us, 
Here build thy frail nest 

Vain is the wish, vain, 

Lo ! he has flown past — 
Gone to the cloud-west 

Ere Winter's cold star 
Sank to its year-rest. 

Then, to thee, good-by, 
Herald of green Spring, 
Bird of the blue wing ! 

(October 8, 1867.) 



THE SONG OF IXUS. 



From the French of Hegesippe Moreau.* 



Open ! I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak 
that a gust of wind would kill. 

One day, twelve years ago, a pigmy dropped 
from the lion-skin of Hercules. 
That pigmy it was I. ' 

My father loved me not because I was small 
and weak. Whilst a child, when 
I threw myself at his knees, I heard 
above my head a voice angry as 
a storm. 

My brothers beat me when I called them aloud 
my brothers. Still, I want to live, for 
I have a sister — a sister who loves me. 



THE SONG OF IXUS. 23 

She is so good, Macaria ! 
Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak 
that a gust of wind would kill. 



II. 

My brothers said to me one day : 

' ' Be good at something. Learn to rear statues 

and altars, for we will be gods, 

perhaps! " 
I tried to obey my brothers, but the chisel 

and the hammer were very heavy ! 
Besides, strange visions and unending, ever 

and ever passed between me 

and the Parian block. 
My distracted fingers wrote in the dust 

a name — always the same : 
The soft name of Macaria ! 
Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak 

that a gust of wind would kill. 



III. 

My brothers then said to me : 

" We have a guest in the castle, a white- 



24 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

haired elder of Chaldea who reads 

in the sky things to come. 
Heed well his lessons and tell us if you see 

in the clouds, for us, coming treasures 

or coming victories." 
I listened to the elder. 
I passed long and serene nights in contemplation 

of the heavens, but I saw neither 

treasures nor victories. 
I saw only stars bright and moist 

that looked down on me with love 

like the eyes of Macaria! 
Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak 

that a gust of wind would kill. 



IV. 

My brothers then said to me : 

" Take a bow and arrows and hunt in the 

woods." 
And I hunted in the woods with a bow and 

arrows ; but I soon forgot the chase 

and my brothers. 
While I listened to the singing of the winds 

and the nightingales, a hind ate 



THE SONG OF IXUS. 25 

the bread in my robe, and a little bird 

tired by a long flight, lit in my quiver 

and went to sleep. 
I brought it to Macaria. 
Open, I am Ixus the poor mistletoe of oak 

that a gust of wind would kill. 



V. 

My brothers then said to me : 

" You are good at nothing," and they beat me ; 

but I did not cry because I was thinking 

of my sister. 
To-morrow she will be taken away from me. 
To-morrow, when Macaria seated at the bridal 

banquet, will say : 
" What is that blue smoke that arises from 

behind that forest of laurels ? ' ' 
" O, it is nothing," -the guests will answer. 
It will be the funeral pile of Ixus the poor 

mistletoe of oak that a gust of wind 

will have killed ! 

(January, 1867.) 

* H£g£sippe Moreau was born in Paris in 



26 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

1810. He had the misfortune of losing his 
parents at an early age and was brought up in 
Provins by charity. At eighteen years of age 
he returned to Paris where he died in 1838, at 
the age of twenty-eight, from the effect of dissi- 
pation. During his checkered life he success- 
ively filled the positions of school-master, 
proof-reader, editor, etc. 

As a poet he was one of the most promising 
France ever produced. He was equally happy 
in song, elegy or satire. His style was often 
bold and strongly original. Probably no au- 
thors of the past, except Ossian and Fenelon 
(the author of "The Adventures of Telema- 
chus") can lay claim to a more graceful and 
remarkable originality. 

Moreau left us three works : " Les Myosotis," 
" Dioge'ne" and " Contes a ma Sceur." In 
1873 they were reprinted by Michel Levy, Freres, 
in an ordinary-sized volume of a little less than 
three hundred pages. " Contes a ma Sanir " is 
a small volume of short stories ; from one of 
these " Le Qui de Chine" ("The Mistletoe 
of Oak ") I translate " The Song of Ixus." 



A MOWING CAROL. 

List' to the merry mowers* singing, 
Tuned to the polished scythes' ringing 

In the swaying field ; 
All day long the earth they're cleaning, 
Mixing song and shout and gleaning, 
Scarcely for a moment leaning 

O'er the scythes they wield. 

Yonder see the eyes a-beaming 
Of the village belles half-dreaming, 

List'ning to the song 
Of the mowers as they're bending, 
Earthward the rich harvest sending, 
Toiling with a will unending, 

Worthy of the throng. 



28 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

How each maiden's heart is waiting 
Restless, till the hour of mating 

For the homeward way ; 
See their gentle bosoms heaving, 
As their idle brains are weaving 
Threads of gold through lives, believing 

Love is for alway ! 

Hear the birds on high a-singing 
As the mid-air they are winging, — 

Singing to their mates ; 
Or, on yonder branches sitting, 
From this limb to that a-flitting, 
Ever with a grace befitting 

To their happ} r states. 



Lo ! the golden, crimson sun 
Disappears in gathering dun, — 

Westward rolls the day ; 
Of the sweet content they've won, 
Of the work that day they've done, 
Sing the mowers now as one, 

In a chorused lay. 



A MOWING CAROL. 29 

Look away! oh, look away! 
Maidens innocent and gay, 

Mowers lithe and strong, 
Now are on the homeward way, 

And to love the throng. 

Rightly does belong. 
Then away ! let us away ! 

Surely 't would be wrong- 
Here to loiter or to stay, 
While they trod the homeward way ! 

(March 30, 1869.) 



A SPRING IDYL. 

From Winter's icy hand the scepter now has 

passed, 
And vernal Spring, the poet-sung, has come at 

last 
With plenteous smiles playing athwart her 

bounteous face, 
Before whose witcheries Care and Trouble flee 

apace. 

The stormy, blustering March began the season 
fair, 
Her milder sister, drizzling April, 's now 
bedight ; 
Soon flow'ry May in gaudiest robes a month can 
wear, 
Will bloom and wither — fade into the Sum- 
mer's light. 



A SPUING IDYL, O i 

Now passed are the lonely orphan's bitter foes — 
Keen hunger, Winter's icy breath and drifting 

snows ; 
Unpitying death no longer stares him in the face, 
For Spring has clad him in the mantle of his 

grace. 

Oh budding, bright and green are the primeval 

woods again ! 
As beautiful beneath this gentle, shimmering 

rain, 
As ever they before white winter dropped her 

shroud 
Of snow and hid their fairness 'neath a passing 

cloud. 

Great Mother Earth with velvet green is girdled 
round, 
The budding branch with joyous songsters 
fills the tree, 
The garden-land with flow'ry crests will soon be 
crowned ; 
Oh may our earthly Springs thus ever lovely 
be! 

'March 3, 1869.) 



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CORMAHL. 

An Imitation of Ossian — Versified. 

Akgumknt: Cormaiil, the last of his line, and 
Ulvinn, Chief of Duah-Tormyl, met in the chase. 
The memory of the feud between their fathers kindled 
the flame of hereditary hate. A battle ensued in which 
the vassals of Cormahl are defeated and he himself 
made prisoner. Borne to Duah-Tormyl and confined 
in a dungeon from which he escapes during the night, 
he is warned of his approaching fate by the spirit of 
one of his ancestors; and finally turning upon his pur- 
surers, darts his spear into the heart of Ulvinn, but 
dies by the weapons of overpowering numbeis. 

A song of the deeds of old, of warriors bold ! 

" Over the heath, roll on thy mists, O night! 
Roll on ! Be thy clouds upon the hills unbright, 
And thy voice, shrill of thy blasts, lift up on 
high. 



CORMAHL. 33 

For darker my soul than the gloom of thy mists 

could hie, 
And mighty the storm of my grief. Not single 

ray, 
There comes of hope and loveliness to begay 
My heart, nor sound of joy unto my ear. 
Alone by sounds of sullen streams, I hear 
Naught on the wild. Unbearingof hunter's will 
And cry of chase the breeze blows on ; and still 
The yelp of hound, and silent as the grave 
The hind in her fern. Slumbers the hunter in 

his cave 
Amidst the moss, and his dark-hued hounds are 

dreaming 
Stretched around. And in the gloom a-seeming 
Are near the tombs of the mighty of years that 

are fled. 
I see the gray stones of their fame — not dead. 
And the heave of their grass-grown cairns ; 

joyous your ways 
In the career of 3 r our youths, O ! sons of 

departed days. 
Lovely ye were in your strength and great in the 

liffht 



34 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Of steel ; but the hour of feebleness — 

midnight — 
Is come and your mighty spirits rejoice and fill 
The shadowy chase of clouds. When whistles 

shrill' 
The blast on the hill and sweeps ye to the hall 
Of your sires, shall the stones of my fame arise. 

When all 
And the last of my battles, O ! sons of dreary 

night 
Is oe'r, the grassy turf — by dark and light — 
Of the narrow house is my place of rest, I'll beud 
At dark from my couch of clouds with eager ear 
To list to the voices of my praise that'll wend 
In the songs of other times, when faded and sere 
The gray-haired bard sits by the beam of oak, 
And the withered hand of age with exultant 

stroke 
Wanders amid the strings of harps, a thousand 
Fair heroes seeming round, and silence's wand 
A -reigning in the halls of shields and fame. 

" On high, 
Uphang the spear of my strength, with my 
helmet nigh, 



C0RMAHL. 35 

When my last field is fought. Let gather the 

rust 
Upon their brightness ; only will remain the 

dust 
Of a hero ; let the terrors of my spear sleep in its 

sheath, 
No more will Cormahl's race be on the heath. 

" Alone am I on the face of the earth, the last 
Of the race of the mighty, of the mighty whose 

deeds are passed. 
But my course, a Bard of song, shall be as 

bright 
As the silver moon on a Winter's cloudless night 
When she sails on high in a silver bath, and her 

ray 
The dim mists evanescent, fades away. 

" As my fathers of old shall I fall, when the 

strife of the spear 
Is heard, and the roar of the battle's tide, and 

ere 
The sons of the feeble smile on my failing hand, 
And dim is the pride of my soul and the pride 

of my land. 



36 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

In their mighty blasts my fathers shall rejoice 
When the tales of the last of the deeds of the 
mighty gain voice. 

" Over the heath roll on thy mists, O night? 
Roll on, be thy clouds upon the hills unbright. " 

Thus spoke Cormahl on the heath of mists of 

old, 
Cormahl of a mighty race of heroes bold, 
By the oak of age he leaned on the beam of his 

spear, 
His dark locks streaming to the blasts, and e'er 
His eye of blue turned to the east. For high 
Was the pride of his soul and he longed with 

expectant sigh 
For the light of morn to rush on the foes of 

might. 
And mighty were they the foes of thy strength in 

the light 
Of steel, O last of a valiant race. Dark night 
No darker was than the cloud of their hosts. 

The rage 
Of thy hero-fathers was no more, grim age 



CORMAHL. 37 

Had borne them to the skies, broken as a child, 
And thy steps, Cormahl, alone were on the wild. 

Met Cormahl of many battles and of warriors' 

race, 
And Ulvinn, chief of spears, in the wild chase 
Of shaggy boars. The wrath of their souls 

arose 
For while the years were few their fathers were 

foes. 
By the rush aud the noise of streams they fought. 

Dreadful 
Were the deeds of their spears, chiefs of the 

gloomy, fearful 
Brows. But Ulvinn was mighty, and like the 

day 
The heroes of Cormahl around him faded away. 
Night closed upon their chief in strange hands 
And captive in the cell of gloom ; the bands 
Of thraldom burst he in his dark despair, 
And fled in his strength to the heath of mists. 

And there 
Arose a distant murmur; ghastly, grim, 
A ghost, dark on his couch of clouds, o'er him 



38 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Stood in. his misty robes. His shadowy spear 
He waived and pointed to the main: " O sere 
And ghastly shade," Cormahl said," on the 

blast 
Why comest thou? Would'st warn me from the 

last 
Field of my fame? O son of might and fear, 
Fly to thy place of rest. What would'st thou 

here ? 
Thou art not of Cormahl's race, O specter sere ! 
For mighty were their deeds in war : rejoiced 
Their spirits in the strife of spears ; the silent- 
voiced 
And moss-grown tombs of heroes on other shores 
Are records of their deeds, and speak the fame 
Of my course, and a thousand bards will sing 

my name 
In the songs of other years. Fly to thy place 
Of rest, O son of night and fear ! " 

And heard 
The shade of the mighty the words of Cormahl 

the last 
Of his line — the last of mighty heroes' race, 
And departed with joy, for pleasant is the word 



CORMAHL. <" 39 

Of their praise and fair renown to the ghosts of 

the past ; 
But dark with anger was Cormahl's soul, for he 

knew 
His hour was near, and the warning of the ghost 

was true. 
Morn rose in loveliness. The wrath of Ulvinn 

woke, 
His heroes snatched their eager spears and broke 
The silence. They poured o'er the misty heath 
And struck their sounding shields with the 

spears of death. 

Who comes in the pride of gleaming arms ? In 

the light 
Of steel? O Cormahl of the gloomy brow, 
Swift was thy step to the field, and swift the 

flight 
Of thy fatal spear to the heart of Ulvinn. He 

fell 
In the pride of his course, nor unrevenged the 

fall 
Of the mighty chief of Duah-Tormyl — all 
The spears of Duah-Tormyl whirled through the 

mists 



40 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Of ruorn, and a hundred wounds of death were 

the doom 
Of Cormahl, last of the race of the mighty. 

He sunk 
In the light of his fame, as a stately pine in its 

bloom , 
When its leafy honors are green in the summer 

air. 
The stones of his fame are reared on the dark 

brown heath 
Of death, by the mighty roll of sullen streams ; 
The grim and shadowy spirits of his race flit there 
On the blasts of night when the moon's silvery 

beams 
Are dim in the mists and the roar of torrents 

around ! 
O sons of the chase, disturb not Cormahl's 

dreams ! 

A song of the deeds of old, of warriors bold ! 

(July, 1868.) 



LOVE 



— Be sure, my friend, 
There is a time for love; when fancy still 
Found worlds of beauty ever rising new 
To the transported eye; when flattering hope 
Formed endless prospects of increasing bliss; 
And still the credulous heart believed the mall, 
Ev'n more than love could promise. 

— Thompson's " Hophonisba." 



MONA LEE. 

O peerless Mona Lee ! 

O rare, proud Mona Lee ! 
And so you've spurned the love I pledged 

For frivolous gayety? 

Ah, well, then have your way ; 
Your love, if love it was, was fledged ; 
Yet ere we part, one word — but one : 

You will regret this day, 
'Twill be your darkest 'neath the sun — . 

And darker still tor love of me, 

Rare Mona Lee ! 

O queenly Mona Lee ! 

O beautiful Mona Lee ! 
When you will turn heartsick away 
From Pleasure's dream and Fashion's sway ; 



44 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

When dead your hopes and cold deceit 
Your suff ' ring glance alone will greet ; 
When you will sigh, 
With tearful eye 
Turned to the vast above — 
" Ah, God, what might have been, 
Had not this woman's proud conceit 
Strangled his awful love 
That worshiped me as queen ! ' ' 
Ah, then perhaps you'll sigh for me, 

Proud Mona Lee ! 

O airy Mona Lee ! 

O heartless Mona Lee ! 
When brazen faced men will jeer, 

And pure, true women blush, — 

When shame your face will flush 
As you go by ; when you will fear 
Your very self, — ah, then, will sneer 

At my simple, harmless ways, 
Curl up your proud, disdainful lip 

As in other, better days? 
Oh, no, from you such thoughts you'll whip, 
Not thus will you then think of me, 

Cold Mona Lee ! 



MONA LEE. 45 

O sweetness Mona Lee ! 
O pride named Mona Lee ! 
When the gay world that you so much 
Do love will scorn your very touch ; 
When through your soul Despair's dark cry 
Will ring: " O God, that I could die!" 
Ah, then, perhaps when thus alone, 
You'll think of happiness once known — 
Of happiness that still would be, 

Had you been true 
As I to you, 

Poor Mona Lee ! 

(December, 1868.) 



PEERLESS BUT COLD. 

" Peerless but cold, and cold and false," 
'Twas this they said to me ; 
" But such thing cannot be," 
I said to my heart, " she's good and sweet, 
And none more sweet to thee." 



" Athleen, I love the languor-wealth 
Of thy dark and Southern eye ; 
Nor will my heart deny, 
Its heaven's to lins-er nigh 

When the dulcet tones of thy rich voice 
In dreamy cadense die. 



" O sweet, they say I see thee with 
A poet's vision-mind ; 



PEERLESS BUT COLD. 47 

Ah, well, love may be blind, 
Yet a heart more warm and kind, 
A form more fair, a soul more pure, 
I do not seek to find ! 

" Thou art my all; thy voice, thine eye, 

They hold a charm for me, — 

A charm alike the sea, 

When sighing plaintively 
It holds entranced the soul : yea, thus 

It is I belong to thee ! 

' ' Peerless Athleen ! here at thy feet 

My heart's love let me own : 

O sweet, for thee alone " 

She's cold as passive stone! 
Alas, my heart, 'tis always thus 

That mercy's to thee shown ! 



" Peerless but cold, and cold and false," 

'Tis thus they say to me ; 

" Ah, such a thing can be," 
I say to my heart, " she may be sweet, 

And good, — but not to thee ! " 
(July 23, 1869.) 



TO ULALA— IN DESPAIR. 

AN INVOCATION. 

The world is dead and bleak, — 

Heart's dearest shun me not ! 
From thee only a smile I seek — 
From thee sweet comfort, rest, I seek ; 
Ulala, shun me not! 

My pathway's laid with snares, — 
Heart's dearest shun me not! 
The strength of crime my love yet dares - 
The power of crime my soul yet dares ; 
Ulala, shun me not ! 

I find dark, black deceit — 

(Heart's dearest shun me not ! ) — 
Where'er I turn my wandering feet, — 



TO ULALA IN DESPAIR. 49 

Where'er may stray rny bleeding feet ; 
Ulala, shun me not ! 

In this my darkest hour, 

Heart's dearest, shun me not! 
Thine arms only to save have power, — 
Thy kiss only to cheer has power ; 
Ulala, shun me not ! 

(August, 1869.) 



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185 



THE MAID OF CHAMOUNI. 

Glad, glad is my heart, and my thoughts they 

are gay, 
■Tor fond memory roves to a realm far away, 

On this natal day. 

There's a brook arched above by a gray and 

worn bridge ; 
An ivy-clad cottage perched high on the ridge, 
And the sighing Adige. 



With a maid of fair Italy, my thoughts they are 

there, 
With her dark and brown eyes and her raven 

black hair — 

Eulalie the fair ! 



THE MAID OF CHAMOUNI. 51 

I fondle and press her brown hands close in 

mine, 
And I read in her eyes that full love, half-divine, 
That maddens the soul as the fumes of the wine 
Of the richest vine ! 

My love, O come back ! O come back ! here to me 
From thy pilgrimage near the great Queen of the 

Sea, 
To thy own and fair vale of the green Chamouni, 
Where I pine and I wait in sad longing for thee, 

My own Eulalie. 

Come fly with me love to the land of the West, 
There resting thy weary young head on my 

breast. 
We'll love and we'll dream the sweet dream of 

the blest, 

In love's holy rest! 



Lo ! now be ye gone, ye harsh days of grim 

sadness, 
For I love, and I live in her face's gladness — 

In her happiness ! 



52 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Aye, I revel and I live in the love of my 

pride, — 
I revel and I live in the soul of my bride, 

My own Eulalie, 
My dear Eulalie, 
The Maid of the Vale of the green Chamouni ! 

(August 26, 1868.) 



THE FORSAKEN TO THE FALSE. 

I trust that never more in this world's shade 

Thine eyes will be upon me; never more 
Thy face come back to me. For thou hast made 

My whole life sore. 
Fare hence and be forgotten — sing thy song, 

And braid thy brow, 
And be beloved and beautiful — and be 

In beauty baleful still — a serpent queen 
To others not yet cursed in loving thee 

As I have been. — Owen Meredith. 

When your heart will be bowed and its gloom 

will find voice in your song, 
When the scenes of the past in your mind as 

dread phantoms will throng, — 
When your mind will be haunted with the curse 

of my terrible wrong, 



54 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

When your breast in its sorrow will heave its 

dead burden of sighs, — 
When your soul in its misery will live in a world 

of your sighs, 
When the tears of repentance will dim the bright 

luster of your eyes, — 

You'll remember me! 

When the demon men call by the name of base 
Mockery will rule — 

When the child — putrid child — of a demon- 
born passion will rule, 

And when Pride, grim and gaunt, its half-sister, 
thy innocent heart, 

In the deadliest paths of the world, in the sub- 
tlest art, 

With the freshest-born lisps from the lips of the 
damned will school — 

With the moans and the curses from the ulcered 
lips of a ghoul, — 

You'll remember me! 

When the meaningless words — call them 
words ! — of a meaningless love — 



THE FORSAKEN TO THE FALSE. 55 

When the emptiest words — they are sounds! — 

of an emptiest love 
Will be sighed in your ear, oh ! your thoughts 

to my truth then will rove, — 
To my truth which was pure as the faith of the 

angels above : — 
You are doomed to revert to the demon Despair, 

to remember 
Those happiest and purest of days in the passed 

September, — 

You'll remember me! 

(September, 1869.) 



ANNETTE, MY PET. 

And why so cold to-day, Annette, 

Pray why so cold to-day ? 
Methinks if thou dost love me, pet, 

Mine eyes should chase thy gloom away. 

Smooth back that a wf id frown, Annette, 

Smooth back that awful frown ; 
It ill becomes thy brow, my pet, 

With its wealth of height from eye to crown. 



Push back that wanton tress, Annette, 

Push back that wanton tress ; 
It shades your faultless lip, my pet, 

With the soft, sweet bliss it yields a caress, — 
With the rich, rare joy it yields, my pet, 

As lip to lip in our love we press. 



ANNETTE, MY PET. 57 

And why that look in thine eye, Annette, 
That look in thine eye of brown ? 

Have I done aught to harm thee, pet, 
Or mar thy good and fair renown ? 

Let a smile creep over your face, Annette, 

Let a smile play over your face ; 
'Twere a sin to spoil its beauty, pet, 

With all its wealth of Gallic grace. 

'Twas but a slight caprice, Annette? 

A slight caprice, you say? 
Whoso' would keep love fast, my pet, 

Needs give love equal warmth alway, — 
She who'd keep love till the morrow, pet, 

Must treat it fair on each to-day ! 

(July, 1869.) 



LAURINA CLARE. 

(For Music.} 

Each subtle art 
To storm my heart ; 
Each winning smile 
And tender wile ; 
Each pose and grace 
And studied face, 
Oft' has thou tried, but tried in vain, 

Laurina Clare. 
Wert thou the fairest of the fair, 
I'd tell thee no, no, never! 
There is a nearer, 
There is a dearer ; 
Laurina Clare, 
I laugh at thee forever. 



LAUKINA CLARE. 59 

Thy golden hair, 
Thy forehead fair ; 
Thy heaving breast, 
Enticing rest ; 
Thy soft white hand, 
Fit to command, 
All useless are, sweet sunny-tressed 

Laurina Clare. 
Wert thou the fairest of the fair, 
I'd tell thee no, no, never! 
There is a nearer, 
There is a dearer ; 
Laurina Clare, 
I'll laugh at thee forever. 

Thy slender waist, 

Thy mien so chaste ; 

Thy Saxon eye 

Blue as yon sky ! 

May well defy 

All rivalry, 
But hold no empire over me, 
Laurina Clare. 
Wert thou the fairest of the fair, 
I'd tell thee no, no, never ! 



60 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

There is a nearer, 
There is a dearer ; 
Laurina Clare, 
I'll laugh ]at thee forever. 

Then striving still, 
Pursue thy will ; 
Call Nature, Art, 
To play their part, 
I know thy aim, 
'Tis gold — a name, 
And further mattereth not to me, 

Laurina Clare. 
Wert thou the fairest of the fair, 
I'd tell thee no, no, never ! 
There is a nearer, 
There is a dearer ; 
Laurina Clare, 
I'll laugh at thee forever. 

(June, 1867.) 



DEATH. 



Great God! how could thy vengeance light 
So bitterly on one so bright? 
Hoio could thy hand that gave such charms, 
Blast them again? — Thomas Moore. 



THE LONG AGO. 

I live in the long ago — 
In the memory of the long ago, 
When my cheek was pure and white as drifting 
snow, 
And my youthful heart was all aglow 
With love's sweet happiness. 

I live in thy life, Annette, — 
In the time thou wast in this life, Annette, 
Sweet time, near the hoary ruins of Linnerlet, 
As life was fair and youth was yet, 
We never dreamed Love's sun could set 
In the darkness of the tomb ! 

Ah, those days have long gone by — 
Those mellow years have long passed by, 



64 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

And now my dead soul longs to hie 
To her, iny spirit love, in realms on high — 
In a kingdom where love cannot die 
No more than its own cause. 

For in youth my youth is spent — 
My vigor of youth is withered, spent, 
And gone is the light her presence lent 
To my aimless life ; like a guardian angel sent 
Was she to guide that life misspent, 
And when she died my young heart went 
Down, down into the grave ! 

Ah, I live in the long ago — 
In the memory of the long ago, 
When my cheek was pure and white as drifting 
snow, 
And my youthful heart was all aglow 
With love's sweet happiness. 

(July 17, 1868). 



IN DARK DAYS. 

The dead, sweet past! It hath to-night 
A second birth beneath this sad moon's 
light. 
No more I'll press her form in silent happiness 
and feel her heart 
Beating its music soft on mine ; she's torn 
From me in her young beauty fresh as 
morn , 
And I am left to feel this nothingness that's 
grown of me a part. 

In that quiet holiness of land 
Cloud-based, called Paradise, amidst a band 
Of beings known in man's vocabulary as God's 

cherubim, 
My loved and lost Ulala knows the fullest 
amplitude of rest, — 



66 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

While tears coursing apace from mortal 

eyes, 
Bespeak how great earth's loss when good- 
ness dies, — 
And ever, ever pure as any 'mong the radiant 

seraphim, 
She pleads in plaintive accents for my erring 
soul in God unblest ! 

Ulala, dead and buriediove 
Whose better essence's in *the Heaven above, 
Oh how my soul is restless in its mad desire to 
know thee again, — 
In its quick, mad desire to part this life 
Complete with every harsh and bootless 
strife, 
This space, called world, the fit abode of 
selfishness and soulless men ! 

(December, 1869). 




A DIRGE FOR ONE DEAD. 

I have naught left to wish : 

My hopes are dead; 
And all with her beneath 

A marble laid. 

— Drummond. 



I. 

My heart is sad, 

No joy it's had 
From contact with the world, — 

Nor joy, nor song ; 

The whole day long 
In sorrow's gloom 'twas furled. 



68 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Within these smiles — 
These forced wiles — 

That swept my face to-day, 
Was a weary heart 
That took no part 

In the glad world's gayety. 

O dream of youth, 
Of love and truth, 

Foreshadowing perfect years, 
The fears, the pain 
Choked down, again 

Grew strong with added sneers. 



II. 

Beneath the^willows 

That kiss the billows 
On moaning Elsaweam, 

There near the deep, 

She sleeps the sleep 
That's vexed with never a dream. 

O bitter fate, 



A DIEGE FOR ONE DEAD. 69 

Less cruel the hate 
Of all the world than this — 

T' have lost love's light, 

To grope in the night, 
Without love's word or kiss ! 

O love so fair, 

So pure and rare, 
Thy curses slay rne fast ! 

Without a hope, 

A wish, I mope 
In darkness dim and vast ! 



(July, 1868.) 



EUTHANASIA. 

There was a poet whose untimely tomb 
No human hands with pious reverence reared — 
A lovely youth. No mourning maiden decked 
With weeping flowers or votive cypress wreath 
The lone couch of his everlasting sleep; 
Gentle and brave, and generous, no lorn bard 
Breathed o'er his dark fate one melancholy sigh 
He lived, he died, he sang in solitude. 

— Shelley's "Alastor." 

A poet lay upon a couch of pain — 

Sad couch that the cold world had made for 

hirn 
By bitter taunts and quick reproach, and all 
That the sweet singers of a brighter world 
Are doomed to undergo in silence and in tears 
In this life. He was never understood — 
The poet's earthly heritage — and hence 



EUTHANASIA. 71 

This dark and meaningless existence grew 
A burden unto him. Quick-winged Hope 
Flew from his breast, and sickness sorely vexed 

his mind 
Until he prayed for death. And thus his soul 
Burst forth with all its agony in words 
That spoke the bitter sufferings of his years : 

' ' Why should I wish to live 
In this world of sin again, 
When friends have learned to hate, 
And life is but a pain? 

" Why should I wish to live 

When sweet Love is dead and cold, 
And Hope is bright only 
In memories of old ? 

" Why should I wish to live 

When my heart is with the dead, 
And Sorrow's bruising path 
My daily footsteps tread? 

" Why should I wish to live 

When my soul feels not with earth, 



72 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

But lives in a self-world 

Unknown to smiles and mirth? 

" Why should I wish to live 

This same weary life again, 
When all I've lived for's dead 
And all that's left is pain? " 



What time the daisies and the violets bloomed, 
With all the mockery vast of funerals, man, 
Uncaring of him, buried the sweet poet ; 
But Nature, his great mother, loving and 

beloved, 
And who had understood him, wept and 

mourned his loss. 

(June, 1868.) 



LAURA MAYNE. 
One more unfortunate! — Hood. 



Where are thy tears ? 

Where are thy fears ? 
O world, then thou hast none? 

What, only jeers, 

And haughty sneers? 
Is't this her truth has won ? 

O world, but thou art cold 
And selfish, old 
And vain ; 
For surely 't is but blindness, 
To hope by aught but kindness, 
To win her back again. 



74 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

And thou DuVane, 
Why dost thou shun her now — 

Poor Laura Mayne? 
Hast thou so soon forgot 
Thy marriage promise — vow — 
And else I know not what? 



II. 

Once she was pretty, 
Once she was witty, 
And once her soul was innocent ; 
A seraph from high Aidenn sent 
Could not have been more pure, 
Could not have been more sure 
In 'ts love for thee, DuVane, 
Than was sweet Laura Mayne. 

The model of existence, 
The soul of true persistence, 
By man's cursed inconsistence, 
She fell!— 

Alas to tell — 

From heaven to hell ! 



LAURA MAYNE. 75 



III. 



Now sadly cross her arms 

Upon her breast, 
And woe to him who harms 

Her only rest ! 
The world was dreary, dreary, 
And she was weary , weary ; 
But now she's God's again! 
Ho curses on thee, Guy DuVane, 
Deep curses on thee who has slain, 
Weak, trusting Laura Mayne ! 

(May, 1868.) 



THE DEATH OF SERGEANT JASPER. 

Savannah, October 9 ; 1779. 

I. 

Up to the haughty foeman's works the banners 

twain are borne, 
The fleur-de-lis of France, the new-born flag of 

Liberty, 
For Lincoln and D'Estaing have on their 

countries' altars sworn 
To plant them o'er Savannah, those proud 

emblems of the free. 

Up, up the rough and steep ascent both men 

and banners mount, 
Here the columns of brave Lincoln, there the 

columns of the Count ; 



THE DEATH OV SERGEANT JASPER. / / 

" Fire !" — see those cannons' livid mouths and 

hear their thunder roar, 
That echoes and re-echoes to the Mississippi's 

shore. 

Oh, heaven ! see that column waver — form 

again — and break 
As if beneath its base had heaved a sudden, 

dread earthquake ! 
" Charge ! " — and the columns firmly close ; 

again the banners mount. 
Now look adown this line ; see o'er the. famed 

Spring Hill redoubt, 
A banner waves, its staff upholds a field of 

silken blue ; 
'Tis Jasper guards that banner ; never 
- hand more firm or true 
E'er kept a trust more sacredly, nor eager 

voice poured out 
When time was best, its hopeful joy in more 

inspiring shout. 

High o'er the Briton's bastion height that 
banner proudly waves , — 



78 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

That emblem woven by Carolina's fairest hands 

for the braves 
Who on proud Moultrie's day had dared defend 

their country's right 
'Gainst England's iron-seried hosts, her chivalry 

and might. 

Meanwhile the angry battle grows e'er fiercer, 

louder still ; 
The rifle's momentary flash, the cannon's 

monotone, 
The victor's buoyant shout, the vanquished 

and the dying's groan, 
Ring through the startled air as if no rest each 

foeman's will 
Would claim till victory perched upon his 

standard — crowned his own. 

A crash ! — oh, see yon volley sweep ! — God 

save brave Jasper now ! 
Great heavens, a deadly hue is born upon his 

cheek and brow ; 
He bleeds — he reels — his hand contracts 

around th' unsteady staff, — 



THE DEATH OF SERGEANT JASPER. 79 

But up he springs and presses on — his task is 

done but half, — 
On, on — no foeman's dastard hand shall 

desecrate one fold 
Of that proud banner, young in age, in 

freedom's battles old ! 



He's reached a place of safety now ; into a 

com'rade's hand 
Must fall that charge he bore so nobly for the 
band. 

The hero's blood is on the plain, his life is 

ebbing fast, 
And soon up to the realms above his spirit will 

have passed ; 
With solemn grief his com'rades 'round him 

close to bear away 
What dying wish or message he would trust 

to them ; he sent 
In feeble voice these simple words : " Tell 

Mrs. Elliott that 



80 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

I lost my life to save the flag she gave our 

regiment ; " * — 

A shiver — groan — his hand dropped to the 

ground, then side by side 
Banner and bearer laid ; a prayer — moan — 

and Jasper died ! 



II. 

God keeps an everlasting watch and ward over 
the grave 
Of him who falls beneath the tyrant's arm 
in freedom's fight, — 
For he who dies for Liberty, who dares with 
heart to brave 
The tyrant's will, dies too for Him in 
falling for the right. 

Rest on, brave Jasper, rest; thy form beneath 

th' unconscious sod, 
Thy soul beyond the chains of thrall, fears not 

th' oppressor's rod. 
Rest on, what though the sullen grass that 

grows above thy form 



THE DEATH OF SERGEANT JASPER. 81 

Has never known a grateful tear, the moaning, 

fitful storm, 
More generous than man will weep for thee, 

and the swaying trees 
Will sing thy requiem as through them sighs the 

evening breeze, f 
Rest on, a nation yet will wake to crown thee 

child of Fame, 
And Glory'll cast her glowing beams around thy 

sacred name, 
While lips unborn, in centuries will sound thy 

growing praise 
'Till Justice points thy grave, commands : 

' ' Lay here the laurel bays ! ' ' 

(June, 1869.) 

* His exact words were: u I have got my furlough. 
That sword was presented to me by Governor Eut- 
ledge for my services in the defense of Fort Moultrie. 
Give it to my father and tell him I have worn it with 
honor. If he should weep, say to him his son died in 
the hope of a better life. Tell Mrs. Elliott that I lost 
my life supporting the colors which she presented to 
our regiment." {Vide " The Life of General Francis 



82 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Marion. By Brigadier-General P. Horry, of Marion's 
Brigade, and M. L. Weems.") 

f Since this was written (in June, 1869), a monu- 
ment has been erected to the memory of Sergeant 
Jasper at Savannah, Georgia, by public subscription. 

The following beautiful tribute to the memory of 
Sergeant Jasper was paid by Charles C. Jones, Jr., in 
his address of January 3, 1876, before the Georgia 
Historical Society: " The place of his sepulture is 
unmarked. He sleeps with the brave dead of the 
siege who lie beneath the sod of Savannah. Although 
no monumental shaft designates his grave, his heroic 
memory is perpetuated in the gentle murmurs of that 
perennial spring at our very doors near which one of 
his most generous deeds was wrought. His name is 
day by day repeated in a ward of this beautiful city of 
Oglethorpe whose liberation he died to achieve, is in- 
scribed upon the flag of one of our volunteer compa- 
nies, and dignifies a county of Georgia whose inde- 
pendence he gave his life to maintain." 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



/ sing of this, I sing of that — 
Just as the mood does take me; 

And if I make not sense withal, 

Then do my wits forsake me! 

— Kalph Leon Haldin. 



A BRIDAL TOAST. 

Come friends fill up 
Thus every cup 

To the brim ! 
With hearts alight, 
We'll drink to-night 
To the married pair : 

To him, 
The proven brave, — 
To her, the good, the fair! 

Here's health, 
And wealth, 
With happiness combined 
In many a golden year ; 
And that they find 
Life's path with roses lined, 



86 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

And so without a fear, 
Misfortune's blighting frown, 
Or sorrow's tears, 
Thus hand in hand, 
Content they may go down 
Life's columned years 
Unto the better land ! 

Then every cup, 
Fill up, fill up, 

To the brim ! 
With hearts alight, 
We'll drink to-night 
To the married pair : 

To him, 
The proven brave, — 
To her, the good, the fair! 

(October, 1868.) 



THRENODY. 

O what is life but a short-lived hour? — 
An empty wish, an emptier power? 

And what is haughty man though in purple and 
kingly grace, 

He revels in nameless bliss and rules his short- 
timed space? 

He fades away from the earth he loved as an 

airy dream, 
And finds too late that life's things are not 

what they seem. 



His soul is borne to the golden shore 
Beyond whose gates he knows no more. 



OO SONGS IN MINORITY. 

And the lauded works he built in the vaunted 

Temple of Fame, 
Survive not long the empty honors of his name. 

For they are frail as frail can be, — 
And frail as frailty's self is he. 

So what is mortal man though in purple and 

and kingly grace, 
He revels in nameless bliss and rules his 

short-timed space? 

And what is life but a brief -lived hour ? — 
An empty wish, an emptier power? 

(February, 1869.) 



THE DREAM OF FAME. 

" Dreams of fame and grandeur 
End in bitter tears." 

My friend, I know thou hast a poet's soul. In 
deed and thought 
Thou art a poet. Yet, oh child of fate 
Thy mind, revolving giant hopes, I fear is 
linked to naught 
But dreams Utopian of a perfect lauded state 



The mind of him whose burial shroud was red 

with Etna's flame 
Was peopled too with thoughts of deathless 

fame ; 
Ephesus' son who gave unto the brand her 

boast — his shame — * 



90 SONGS IN MINORITY. 

Dreamt too in untold years to bear an envied 
name. 

The world is young, yet 'tis long since their 

names have been forgot' — 
Entombed in the arrier-course of rushing 

Time ; 
Ah, those of earthly type who rise above the 

common lot 
Are few, no matter how strong the wish, how 

hard the battle fought 
Or what the 'vantage gained, or what the age 

or clime. 

And he whose falchion flashed along the famed 
Egyptian Nile, 
Whose conquering host's he led through 
Alpine snows f 
And the battle smoke of Wagram's desperate 
field, 
At last sleeps well in St. Helena's dead and 
desolate isle ; 
Ambition's dreams all wrecked, Napoleon 
shows 



THE DREAM OP FAME. 91 

The world the littleness of Fame. Oh 
yield 
Thou not too much, my friend, to Glory's sweet 
ironic smile, 
And masked Ambition's call, the sum of all 
our woes. 

Thy heart responsive beats to siren Hope's 
seductive tone, — 
I read the purpose in thy pensive eyes, — 
Ah, well^ if thou willst persevere, henceforth 
thou art alone ; 
Thou dost renounce thy heritage ; of sighs 
And tears a new world thou must make, — a 
world all, all thine own ; 
Far oh, Ambition born once never dies, 
And all our tears and pains and heart regrets 
will ne'er atone 
For idle dreams and hopes of power not 
overwise! 

I know thou would'st not battle but in the cause 
of Right, 



92 SONGS IN MINOEITY. 

Thou wouldst not deck thy brow with laurels 
won in unjust fight ; 
Then up, sweet friend, thus clad in armor 
glorious, 
Up, up, fling out thy standard, battle in thy 
royal might. 
Nor rest thee till thou art world-crowned with 
deeds victorious ! 

(July 25, 1868.) 



* The magnificent Temple of Diana at Ephesus, 
supposed to have been burnt by one Erostratus on the 
night of the birth of Alexander the Great, B. C. 356. 
When asked his motives for such a deed he answered : 
"A yearning for immortality!" This temple was 
the largest ever erected by the Greeks; its length was 
four hundred and twenty-five feet, its width two hun- 
dred and twenty feet, and its columns one hundred 
and twenty-eight in number, were sixty feet high. 

f His falchion flashed along the Nile, 

His hosts he led through Alpine snows. 
— Rev. John Piekpont's " Napoleon at Kest." 





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ARKADI: A FRAGMENT. 

Arkadi ! land of the unbarren mountain, 
The verdant field and crystal flowing 

fountain ; 
Land of the ever-rippling, laughing brook ; 
Land of the distant poet's wishful look ; 
Home of the mountain hunter and shepherd, 
Where heavenly, entrancing music's heard ; 
Thou vastest monument of Time, 
Majestic, grand — thereat sublime, 
What though among thy sons there's not a 

deathless name, 
Arkadi, still, imperishable is thy fame! 

(May, 1867.) 



O MORTAL BE NOT PROUD. 

O mortal blessed in being great, 
Though pride, strong in thy sex's bosom, may 
elate 

The baser elements of thy soul, let not 
Its power teach thee scorn the poorer name, 
And thereat lesser fame, 

That fills thy brother's earthly lot. 

Nor boast that in the boundaries wide, 
Where greatness and its praise abide, 

Thou hast a second life through thy fair 
name ; 
The glory and the power of this earth 
Are short-timed and of little worth, — 

Hence little only canst thou claim. 



O MORTAL BE NOT PROUD. 95 

'Twas only the kinder moods of Fate 
Capriced to make thee great, — 

That Fate most perfect from the hand of God ; 
Bethink thee that the glory of thy name may 

fade — 
Grow dim before the gloom of Age's shade, 

And that with thee beneath the sod, 
All, all thou wert, and art, and will be, may be 
laid! 

Then mortal be not over-proud 
Of the great, envied shroud 
Light girdled on thy shoulders, but uplift 
Thy soul to sweet communion with the Great 
Above 
Who clad thee in the precious gift, 
And prove thy manlihood by Honor and by 
Love! 

(September 28, 1869.) 



THE END. 



Dr. DeMeniFs Literature of 

The Louisiana Territory. 

Dr. DeMenil traversed the whole Mississippi Valley 
in search of materials and his book contains much 
fresh biographical matter. The author has done his 
work well. The volume is intrinsically interesting, 
and, it makes a striking exhibit of literary achieve- 
ment for a region that was an untrodden wilderness a 
century ago. —Chicago Daily Record- Herald. 

The book contains many representative names of 
Louisiana writers and is important. The biographical 
sketches afford traits of national characteristics and 
have something to say for the forces of artistic 
awakening in new lands. — Denver Daily News- Times. 

Students of literature and collectors of " Americana " 
will find it not only valuable for immediate study, but 
also for permanent preservation as a book of refer- 
ence, illustrating the connections of literature with 
Western history. — St. Louis Evening Star. 

The first history of the literature and educational 
development of the Louisiana Territory. — Book News. 

We do not know of any book of Louisiana name 
Into the making of which so much downright honest 
hard work has been put both to the author's honor and 
the goodly substance of the child of his brain and pen. 
We do not know of any book that should appeal more 
universally to the big world of lovers of literature. — 
Boston Courier. 

A wonderful record of work by many of the best 
known authors in our literature. — Bridgeport, Conn., 
Daily Standard. 

The contents of the book include an "Historical 
Sketch of the Louisiana Territory," and much other 
interesting matter, and the thorough knowledge of his 
subject which the talented author possesses, make 
this book a delightful and authoritative work.— The 
Crescent, Liverpool, England. 



Dr. DeMeniPs criticisms are of the snappy, free- 
lance style. He calls a spade a spade, always. — 
Hamilton, Canada, Evening Times. 

An unusual book written in an unusual style. It 
preserves much information that otherwise might be 
lost. — The Fireside Monthly Magazine. 

Dr. DeMenil's personal recollections of many of the 
authors of the Louisiana Territory, his critical insight, 
wit and sarcasm, and his thorough knowledge of his 
subject, make a delightful and authoritative work. — 
New Orleans Daily Item. 

A collection of biographical sketches of middle 
Western and Southern authors and a comprehensive 
history of the Louisiana Territory. The book con- 
tains valuable Information and is handsomely gotten 
up. — Eush City, Minn., Post. 

Mr. De Menil is a fearless and trenchant writer and 
his style is invigorating in this day of " milk and 
water " literature. This book is a valuable acquisition 
to the true literature. — Minneapolis Progress. 

It ranks in American literature as the one authority 
on the literature of the Louisiana Territory. — Trans- 
lated from Amerika, St. Louis. 

Contains a large amount of data and facts placed 
before the public for the first time. — The Bookman. 

The book has an especial interest for those who 
live within the territory which is now States.— 
Lowell, Mass., Morning Citizen. 

Contains information not found elsewhere. —San 
Francisco Human Nature. 

Dr. DeMenil gives us no ordinary book. He has 
done his work in a thorough, painstaking and mas- 
terly manner.— The Church Progress. 

The story of the territory, of education therein, and 
biographical and critical sketches of the writers the 
land has produced. — Chicago Evening Post. 

The book is the result of the talent for investiga- 
tion, the love of history and literature, the energy of 
years of hard work and thousands of miles of travel. 



It is a book that simply demands admission to all 
public libraries in the territory bought from Na- 
poleon. —Keokuk, Io., Standard. 

In itself a peculiarly interesting book, and one of 
most pertinent import. Dr. De Menil is a remarkably 
vivid, able writer and his book covers a large and in- 
dividually important field in an especially interesting 
manner. He has produced a genuinely valuable 
volume. It contains many uniquely related facts 
not as yet widely realized. — Boston Ideas. 

A book of special interest. — Savannah Morning 
News. 

An interesting book which takes a very unique 
and charming place In literature. * * * A valua- 
ble contribution to American literature.— New Or- 
leans Times- Democrat. 

A rare combination of information and enlight- 
enment, spiced with personal recollections, wit and 
sarcasm. — Buffalo, N. T., Evening Times. 

A genuine contribution to historical literature. — 
The Church News. 

A valuable contribution to the literary history of the 
country. — New Bedford, Mass., Morning Mercury. 

The work contains much that is entertaining as well 
as informing reading. —Toledo, O., Daily Blade. 

The work shows an immense amount of research on 
the part of the author, and is a worthy souvenir of the 
Louisiana Purchase Exposition. — Chicago Evening 
Chronicle. 

The author has done his work well. The book is 
very interesting. —Burlington, Io., Saturday Evening 
Post. . 

The volume has value as a book of reference. — New 
Bedford, Mass., Evening Standard. 

An unusual book which is of value as a permanent 
work of reference . . . A really important book. — 
Chicago Daily News. 

Its author has succeeded in including a remarkable 
amount of information. Nor is the work of the sort 



which owes its sources to encyclopedias and records. 
There is a personal tone which indicates a wide 
acquaintance among the writers concerned, and Dr. 
De Menil handles his materials with a fine perspective 
knowledge which gives his book more than passing 
worth. — St. Louis Globe- Democrat. 

A chronological and historical encyclopedia of the 
literature which has been created within the limits of 
the original Louisiana as it was transferred from 
France to the United States; considering the magni- 
tude of such an undertaking, and the enormous labor 
and research necessary to accomplish the task, the 
erudite Doctor has ably performed his dnty. An in- 
teresting and valuable work is this book. — New 
Orleans Daily Picayune. 

A book that should be placed in every public library 
as a memorial of the development of the Louisiana Ter- 
ritory. The introductory historical sketch is very 
comprehensive and graphic. — The Woman's Tribune, 
Washington. 

A creditable piece of work, reflecting the author's 
familiarity with the subject as well as a vast amount 
of labor and research. It is a volume that may be 
read with Interest by students and others. — St. Louis 
Mirror. 

De Menil is a conscientious worker, an exact and 
careful student, and this book of his must place him 
in the category with those who by their efforts have 
aided in the preservation to their countrymen of cer- 
tain of the better portions of literature that has made 
history, and vice versa. He writes with a zeal that 
proves without a doubt the fact that his heart is in 
every line, and his statements ring with an earnest- 
ness, simplicity and cleverness that display the pains- 
taking and intelligent possession of a large theme and 
the accompanying capacity to express his thought an- 
derstandingly and to the point. — Boston Courier. 



THE ST. LOUIS NEWS COMPANY, PUBLISHER, 

ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI. 
Cloth; price, $1.50. For Sale at Leading Bookstores. 



THE HESPERIAN 

A Western Illustrated Quarterly Magazine. 

Without prior advertisement or announcement of 
any kind, The Hesperian was ushered into exist- 
ence in May, 1894, and has filled its special niche in 
the world of literary periodicals ever since as a free, 
honest and independent publication. Its publisher 
made no idle promises or vain boasts; he merely 
stated that he would issue a magazine of a more 
serious character than any in existence in the West. 

The Hesperian addresses itself to the educated 
and thinking classes of readers. It is virtually a 
magazine of essays, treating principally on literary 
and historical topics. Sensationalism finds no place 
in its pages, nor do discussions of political and relig- 
ious questions. Book publishers cannot buy space in 
its pages for the " puffing " of their new books. 

The Hesperian seeks for Truth, and when it 
discerns glimpses of it in the accumulated mass of 
false rubbish that passes current for Truth, it pro- 
claims the result of its labors boldly and in unequivo- 
cal terms. It has the honesty of its convictions, 
whether its judgments be in accord with the reigning 
critical canons, or not. It accepts literary dogmas 
only in so far as they are correct, and no further. 
The only " established literary reputations " it re- 
spects are those resulting from the opinions of men 
of education, literary ability and scholarship. It 
regrets that the large majority of the literary reputa- 
tions of to-day are due to the personal influence of 
the publisher and the amount of money he spends in 
loud and flashy advertising. Against all such and 
all literary commercialism, The Hesperian has 
determinately set its face. It prefers to be honest 
than servile. 

The Hesperian is not owned by the proprietor of 
a book publishing house. It is not under the 
necessity of praising the books of rival publishing 
houses in order to have Its own praised. It is unfet- 
tered, unincumbered — it is honest and just in its 
opinions. It dares to tell the truth! It can continue 
doing without the advertisements of Eastern book 
publishing houses, as it has done during the past 
twelve years. 

Subscription, 50 cts. per annum. Single copy, 15 cts. 

ALEXANDER N. DEMENIL, PH.D., LL.D., 

editor and publisher, 

DeMenil Building. ST. LOUIS, MISSOURI, U. S. A. 



